Midwinter

by Matthew Sturges

  in the basin. All of Faella's things were gone.

  He looked in the mirror and there was something on it, red lines over the silvered surface. Silverdun flared witchlight from his fingers and read it. It was a message from Faella, written in scarlet rouge. "Be as ugly out as in."

  Silverdun refocused his eyes on his own reflection. The man staring back at him was not Perrin Alt, Lord Silverdun. His proud chin was now sunken and pitted with scars. His cheeks were pale. His nose, once straight and patrician, had become a short, bent thing that huddled on his face. Scowling, he reached deep within himself to let loose whatever glamour Faella had placed on him. He felt around his face for the loose threads of illusion and could not find them. There was nothing there. It wasn't a glamour.

  Chapter 16

  how silverdun appears

  Why would I believe that you're Silverdun?" said Raieve, frowning from behind her raised sword. She stood at the entrance to the public stable, where inside the others were preparing the horses. "You don't look a thing like him, and you don't sound like him either."

  The man in front of her wore a dark scowl that certainly reminded Raieve of Silverdun, even if his unpleasant appearance wasn't a match.

  "It's me, Raieve. Lower your blade." The man made a lowering motion with two outstretched hands. "Faella did this to me. We had a disagreement, and I suppose this is her crafty method of punishment."

  "If it's a glamour, then remove it."

  "I can't. It's not a glamour."

  "Then we have a problem."

  Satterly, Mauritane, and Gray Mave appeared at the wide stable door, leading all five mounts by the reins. The morning was dawning misty and gray, the sun buried somewhere behind the ash-colored sky. Even so, the temperature had risen above freezing during the night, and the streets were infused with the sound of melting snow and ice dripping onto the cobblestones.

  "Who's this?" said Mauritane.

  Raieve kept her eyes and her weapon trained on the stranger. "He says he's Silverdun."

  "I am Silverdun," the man said. "Faella did this to me."

  "How do we know you're Silverdun?" said Satterly, stroking his chin. "Tell me something only Silverdun would know."

  "Such as?" said the would-be Silverdun.

  "What did I have for breakfast yesterday?" Satterly raised his eyebrows.

  "How on earth should I know? Watching you eat is too repellant an act to make a habit of it. Besides, I was busy being scolded by Nafaeel for succumbing to his shrew of a daughter."

  "Certainly sounds like Silverdun," noted Gray Mave.

  "As I was telling Raieve," the stranger said, "Faella did something to me. It's not a glamour. I can't remove it."

  "If not a glamour, then what?" said Mauritane. "Some kind of spirit curse or hex?"

  "I don't know," said the stranger, "but it's me, and we're in a hurry, so let's be on our way."

  "Just a moment," said Mauritane. "I believe that you are who you say you are, but the nature of our mission requires proof."

  "What about the horses?" said Satterly, after a moment's thought.

  "How do you mean?" said Mauritane.

  " Silverdun's horse should recognize his scent. If the curse, or whatever it is, altered his smell along with his appearance, then it's awfully subtle."

  "I agree, but let's get away from the stable," said Mauritane. "I think we're beginning to draw attention."

  Indeed, a few of the townspeople had stopped to watch the confrontation. Raieve dismissed them with an ugly look and Mauritane led them away from the stable, into a deserted square near the main spire.

  Mauritane leaned close and whispered into Streak's ear. The horse shook his mane and nodded, whispering something back that only Mauritane could understand. Streak nuzzled Silverdun's roan, Adequate, and made a series of chuffing sounds.

  "Hold out your hand," said Mauritane.

  The man raised his hand to Adequate's nose, and the animal sniffed at it, licked it once. Adequate turned to Streak and let out a single low grunt.

  "It's him," said Mauritane. "Or an amazing facsimile."

  "Oh, please," said Silverdun. "If I were an imposter, why on earth would I do such a terrible job of copying my likeness? I don't even resemble myself!"

  "Maybe you're very bad at illusions," said Satterly. "And this is an elaborate ruse."

  "Are all humans as annoying as you?" said Silverdun, pulling his hair back and tying it with a bit of ribbon.

  "I'm convinced," said Satterly.

  "Enough," said Mauritane. "I'm assured that this is Silverdun. If we discover later that he is not, we're four and he is one. Until then, let's return to our mission. There is much to be done this morning."

  "Is the deal arranged, Mauritane?" said Silverdun.

  "It is. We're to meet a guard named Edi at the tavern."

  "And you got the money from Nafaeel?"

  "I did," said Mauritane, patting his sabretache. "And a good thing I got it last night, because this morning there's no sign of him. The entire troupe packed up and left town during the night."

  "Really?" said Silverdun. "What a surprise."

  The guard Edi was a thick-waisted career guardsman with a scruffy beard and not a single braid in his tousled hair. Mauritane was suspicious of him from the first, perhaps because he'd known a few of the guardsmen in Selafae who were willing to take a bribe, and he wouldn't have turned his back to a single one of them. Still, Edi was a necessary evil, and Mauritane had no choice but to deal with him. Thorough checks were being made at all of the city's exits; even the mestina couldn't have helped them leave.

  "I can take you as far as the border," he said. "But if we meet any patrols en route, they'll require something in exchange for looking the other way as well." Edi slouched in his seat. A glass of wine sat on the table in front of him even though the morning bell had only just rung.

  "We had a deal," said Mauritane. "One hundred in silver for your help. You never mentioned anything beyond that."

  "The one hundred is for my help. Unfortunately, you'll need more than my help to make it out of Estacana today." He sighed. "But if you don't want togo…

  "Fine," said Mauritane. "Just know that if there is any deception, my blade will find you first."

  Edi whistled. "You must trust, sire. Without trust, where are we?"

  Edi led them out of the city through a wide-open aqueduct, a stone channel that began at the city's central cistern and meandered through the city, elevated on arched pilings, then cut through the city wall and into the farmland beyond. The horses splashed in knee-high frigid water, scared of the echoes that reverberated in the curved space.

  A pair of guards stationed by the aqueduct's egress from the city paid them no attention as they passed through the opening in the wall, only nodding at Edi as he rode by. The high stone channel angled downward from the wall until it came even with the ground on a gradual slope. Here, high juniper bushes surrounded the aqueduct, and Mauritane could just make out farms beyond them, empty fields lying useless beneath a blanket of snow.

  At a break in the shrubbery, Edi nudged his horse up the slope of the canal and through the juniper branches, motioning for them to follow him. They emerged onto a narrow path that skirted the fence line of the farmland, where the snow was broken by several sets of fresh tracks.

  "Morning patrol," said Edi, shrugging. "They're friends of mine. It's not a problem."

  The path followed the aqueduct for several miles, broken by irrigation canals that extended from the main canal and ran beneath wooden bridges. The horses' hooves made thick, hollow sounds on the wood. Otherwise, the fields were silent.

  Mauritane allowed the others to pull ahead, nodding to Silverdun to hang back with him.

  "Silverdun," he said. "Let's talk for a moment."

  "Do you still need convincing? Shall I show you a birthmark?"

  Mauritane cracked a smile. "No, I believe you. Now that I look at you, I see that you are not so changed as I'd thought.
The eyes are the same. I trust eyes."

  They rode in silence for a moment.

  "What then?" said Silverdun.

  "In thinking of our mission a few things trouble me. Things I've been pondering for days on my own. I need a fresh perspective." He sighed. "In the past, I could always count on wise counsel from Honeywell."

  Silverdun nodded. "I'll do my best in his absence."

  "There is a crucial question of the Queen's motive in all this," Mauritane began. "Her Majesty is often mysterious, but there is usually a method to her. I'm trying to imagine what circumstances could lead to Purane-Es's appearance at Crete Sulace, and I can think of nothing."

  "Men have given their careers in pursuit of understanding the Queen's mind on far simpler matters."

  "Yes, but our lives may depend on it. You know as well as I the risk that we're taking."

  Silverdun ruminated. "I can offer two possibilities. One is misdirection. There is someone the Queen wishes to confound, and our mission is simply a way to divert attention away from something else."

  "Perhaps. But what?"

  "No way of knowing. But if that is the case, any further speculation is futile."

  "A rather elaborate sleight of hand," said Mauritane. "Even for our Queen. Let's proceed on the assumption that it is not the case. What is the other possibility?"

  "She's hiding something from a noble in the Seelie Court."

  "Whom?"

  Silverdun shrugged. "Perhaps Purane-Es himself. His father is influential at court and she may fear him knowing too much of it. Otherwise she'd send Purane-Es or one of the other lackeys in the Guard to do the job. And they all talk."

  "Yes, when I was Captain, stopping rumors among my commanders took more of my time than the Unseelie."

  "And there's yet a third possibility."

  "Mab?"

  Silverdun nodded. "She has spies at court. Someone once told me that at any given time easily a third of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting are Unseelie operatives."

  "That's only a rumor," said Mauritane. "Remember, it was not that long ago that protecting Her Majesty was my occupation. And I was very good at my job."

  "And you can attest that there were no Unseelie spies at court?"

  Mauritane scowled. "Next question. The Queen asked for me by name. What do you think that might mean?"

  "I've considered that," said Silverdun. "And a thought suggests itself, but not one I think you'll enjoy hearing."

  "And that is?"

  "She knows you're the only one loyal enough to do the job even knowing that success is probably suicide."

  "The thought crossed my mind as well."

  "And?"

  "It does no good to think such things."

  Silverdun leaned toward him. "You'd better start thinking such things, Mauritane. Your life may well depend on it."

  "There's something else," said Mauritane, changing the subject. "Do you remember the night before we left Crere Sulace, when I left you and went to the South Tower?"

  "Yes," said Silverdun. "I was wondering if you would ever bring it up."

  A frown touched Mauritane's lips. "The tower has been turned to excess. There were strange things there."

  "I remember you heard something."

  "Yes, a girl's voice. You couldn't hear it and neither could anyone else. That makes me think what I saw there was meant for me to see."

  "What was it?"

  "It was Crere Sulace, as it was when its prince still ruled there. But still Midwinter outside. I met the Prince, spoke with him. He was as surprised to find me there as I was."

  "Fascinating. It was as though you'd been spellturned yourself. Back into the past."

  "Yes. And to a very specific time. I was not alone in my arrival. A company of the Queen's Men was there to abduct the Prince's daughter. I helped them do it."

  "The Prince's daughter? Was her name Laura, perchance?"

  Mauritane looked at Silverdun. "You know of her?"

  "Yes, I remember something of it from a history class. Crete Sulace mounted a brief insurrection against the crown during the Unseelie Wars. He claimed that the Queen had kidnapped his daughter."

  "Your history is better than mine. What happened?"

  "No one believed him. He was arrested and tried as a collaborator with the Unseelie. It was Her Majesty's idea to turn the castle into a prison. For years he was its only inmate."

  "And they say he wanders the halls even now."

  Silverdun chuckled. "Apparently, they're correct."

  "I can't help but think that my participation in these events is somehow related to our errand. If so, it's the only information I have that Purane-Es does not, and that is valuable."

  "You say you helped the Queen's Men. Did you give your name?"

  "No. I gave the name of one of my ancestors. Bersoen. The lieutenant of the company promised me a medal."

  "I see," said Silverdun. "When we arrive in Sylvan it may be of some interest to consult the Histories and determine if that medal was delivered."

  "So you think there's a connection to our mission?"

  Silverdun scoffed. "Mauritane, if you knew the Queen as well as you claim to, you'd know that the question doesn't need to be asked."

  Edi brought them to a halt before a patrol of four city guardsmen.

  "These gentlemen will each require twenty," he said.

  Mauritane grumbled but paid the men from the rapidly dwindling proceeds of the previous evening's mestina.

  "You'd better pray that they are the last patrol we encounter," said Mauritane, once they'd ridden on. "Because I'm running out of silver and patience both."

  Edi looked around him and, realizing that he was now alone with them, chose to say nothing.

  Raieve squinted at Silverdun. "That Faella certainly took care of you," she said. "What on earth did you do to her?"

  "Does it matter?" said Silverdun.

  "I'm curious." Raieve suppressed her wicked grin.

  "She wanted me to leave Estacana with her and become a mestine. She thought we could work as a duet." Silverdun made a face, looking away.

  "And you refused her to remain with us? I'm touched," said Raieve.

  "Your facetiousness is not appreciated," Silverdun said. "She was serious. And she did not take my refusal well."

  Raieve nodded. "Well, you got what you deserved."

  Gray Mave cocked his head to one side; he'd been following the conversation. "How do you figure, miss?"

  "What?"

  "How do you figure he got what he deserved? Sounds to me like the poor girl was touched with the madness."

  Raieve's brow furrowed. "Ah, and I suppose you believe Silverdun did nothing to encourage her? A young girl meets a dashing lord and becomes infatuated with him. What would you have her think? Who among us escaped wild fantasies at that age?"

  "Yes," said Silverdun. "But it was not I that encouraged her. If you'll recall, it was she that found her way unclothed into my tent."

  Raieve laughed. "Oh, and you had no choice but to bed her?"

  "Honestly, the thought of resisting never crossed my mind."

  "Then you got what you deserved," said Raieve. She spurred her horse and rode forward to watch Edi.

  Edi halted them again, but not for another patrol. They'd reached the end of the path. It terminated at a line of dark trees, stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. A wooden sign affixed to a post protruding from the snow read, "Beware: Here begin some Contested Lands. Beyond this marker, Seelie Law does not pertain."

  "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi c'intrate," intoned Satterly.

  "What's that?" said Mauritane.

  "It's from an old story in my world. It says pretty much the same thing."

  Chapter 17

  a choice

  Marar Envacoro awoke with a start, his premonitory Gift aching in his head and bones. He raised his head gently and peered at his wife and son, still asleep on the bed beside him, the boy's ash blond hair fallin
g across his wife's face. Marar leaned and kissed them each on the forehead gently, careful not to wake them.

  He opened the tent flap to a gentle breeze that meant the city was still in motion and that his water-bearing skills would not be needed today. He'd hoped the premonition was only to underscore a water stop, as it often did, for he needed the extra money. Instead, it would be another day walking the streets. It was Aba's will. So be it.

  He dropped the flap and kneeled beneath the window ledge, prying out the false bottom of the cabinet there, removing his worship beads. He counted them off, the prayers of the morning, the prayers of safety, the prayers of thanksgiving, the prayers of repentance. He whispered them, every few moments glancing at his wife to ensure that she still slept. If she were to stir, he knew from experience, he could have the beads in his pocket before she saw them. And Marar would be certain that she never would. Not until the time was right.

  It was not easy, leading this double life. It went against everything he believed in and everything he knew to be good. But Aba's will was not a straight line, and he would walk it as best he could.

  "Aba protect me from my foes, give me the voice to speak against the oppressor, give me the will to thwart my enemies. Aba, I ask for your protection in the name of She Who Will Come." Marar repeated the words in a murmur, fighting to retain their meaning in his mind despite the number of times he'd spoken the prayer in the past five years.

  He replaced the prayer beads and washed himself in the basin, staring at his reflection. This is the face of a tax collector, he thought. This is the face of one who gathers water to make extra money when the city stops. Frowning, Marar took his collection bag from the bed frame and went out to make his rounds.

  He stopped at the door to his apartment and pulled himself over the walkway railing to the rigging that ran alongside his home. There, tied up among the similar ships belonging to the wealthier of his neighbors, was the flyer. It was small, room enough for only four or five, but it would come in handy if it came time to flee the city of Mab. The flyer was registered with the city and could be taken out without special permission. The monks at Sylvan had even rigged it to come at his command.